For a few tense moments they struggled savagely, with slipping hands and labored breath, while Festing, using his head as a ram, pushed the point of the swaying mass nearer the hole. Then, when all could do no more, the strain suddenly slackened and there was a jar as the log, sliding through their arms, sank into the pit. After this, it was easier to hold it, while one threw in and beat down the gravel. Five minutes later, Charnock sat down on the bank. His face was crimson, his hands bled, and his chest heaved as he fought for breath, but he felt ridiculously satisfied.
“Thanks!” gasped Festing. “Lucky you came along. I thought she was going!”
“Blamed silly thing not to let her go,” Charnock replied. “Some day your confounded obstinacy will ruin you. Anyhow, we've put her in. Not bad for a cripple!”
Then he sucked his torn fingers, and fearing that he might have to account for the delay, went about his business. It was curious that the tense exertion had not brought on the pain, but his back and shoulders were sore when he went to Festing's shack in the evening. The small, earth-floored room was dry and warm, and smelt pleasantly of resinous wood. They did not light the lamp, for although it was dark the red glow of the fire flickered about the walls. Charnock felt a comforting sensation of bodily ease as he lounged in his chair, and when he had smoked a pipe told Festing about his encounter with Wilkinson.
“I imagine the brute isn't hurt much, but don't know if I'm glad or not,” he said. “He looked remarkably funny as he slid down the bank, with his arms and legs spread out like a frog. Suppose I should have thought about the risk of his tobogganing into the river, but I didn't.”
“Well, I expect he deserves all he got, and remember the satisfaction it gave me to throw him out of the poolroom. Looks as if we were primitive.”
“We're all primitive in this country,” Charnock rejoined. “They have no use for philosophical refinement in Canada. Their objects are plain and practical and they employ simple means. We're not bothered by the conventions that handicap you at home. If a man hurts you, and you're big enough, you knock him out.”
“We have both knocked out Wilkinson, but I'm not sure that we have done with him. The simple plan's not always as easy as it looks.”
“I don't think he can make much trouble. If he does, one of us will knock him out again. As it will hurt us less than it hurts him, he'll probably get tired first.”
They let the matter drop, and Festing presently remarked: “The rain makes things difficult, but it's lucky the frost keeps off. I must try to get the frames up at the awkward places before it begins.”